


A Fake Name

by Lady_Talla_Doe



Category: Killjoys (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Crossdressing, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Kiss, First Time, Knifeplay, Lots of awkward flirting, M/M, No Blood, Now Featuring ART, Sexual Tension, Sharing Clothes, Team Awesome Force, Undercover as a Couple, enough to make the 9ers uncomfortable, various members of the nine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:48:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25576816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Talla_Doe/pseuds/Lady_Talla_Doe
Summary: As it turns out Fancy Leewasa fake name, just it wasn't the 'Fancy' part that was fake.Turin and Fancy go under cover as a couple to a Nine Families exclusive party, and struggle to keep the'fake'in fake relationship.
Relationships: Fancy Lee/Turin
Comments: 5
Kudos: 10





	1. Qresh

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lonespark_the_friendly_kraken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lonespark_the_friendly_kraken/gifts).



> for the lovely Lone <3

My fandom twitter: [goblinewrites](https://mobile.twitter.com/goblinwrites)

my writing specific twitter: [lady_talla_doe](https://mobile.twitter.com/lady_talla_doe)

Turin's outfit: [here](https://twitter.com/lady_talla_doe/status/1288221236842045441?s=19)

Fancy's outfit: [here](https://twitter.com/lady_talla_doe/status/1288221262305587201?s=19)

* * *

* * *

“Are you _sure_ this is all you have?” Turin held the dress carefully, despite the distaste clear in his expression.

“I’m sure that this was _your_ idea, and that you didn’t bring suitable clothes.” Fancy paused in the doorway, tugging his hair loose, and dragging his fingers through the dark strands. “I’m sure they’ll buy Dutch as my fiancé- it’s her dress after all.”

Turin snorted.

“Oh yeah, why not just bring Zephyr,” he muttered, more to himself then to the other Killjoy. But Fancy laughed as he left the small guest room, closing the door politely behind him. Turin blew out a slow breath, and laid the dress out carefully. The room was no more then a closet, really- Fancy’s ship wasn’t designed for multiple long term occupants. There was a single bed pushed against the wall, no wider than the cot he kept in his bug-out tent, and a nightstand filled the space between the head of the bed, and the wall, a small lamp perched on top. The wall across from the bed had several hooks, one of which he set the dress and it’s hanger on.

His boots and gun belt were at the foot of the bed, and Turin’s hair was still damp from the shower; he smelled like Fancy’s expensive soap, and at his urging, had used the softly scented hair products. The scent was mild, it certainly didn’t carry, but with his hair loose around his shoulders, Turin found himself distracted by it; muttering to himself, he turned his attention to the dress.

He already regretted this, but Fancy was right; this had been _his_ idea. Time to shut up and put up.

The fabric was gauzy, but silken; it slipped through his fingers, almost weightless, when he touched it. It smelled clean, no hint of Dutch’s preferred perfume on it. It was even modest, as dresses for Qreshi’s went- the neckline was high, a repeating pattern drawn out in deep blue’s that faded from deep ocean to aquamarine, stripes of ombre chevrons growing in size to mid chest, where the gown split to cover breasts- not that he had any, but the cut would be damn near skin tight. The chevron pattern picked up again underneath at the waist, leaving an open window in the middle of the gown- his scar would show through it, he realized, and frowned as he poked his finger through the gap. It wasn’t a deal breaker, but he wasn’t comfortable with the eyes of all those stuck up Niner bastards looking down their noses at him because of it.

Turin had _a lot_ of scars. Dermal wands weren’t always handy when shit went pear shaped.

He continued his inspection, letting the dress flow over his hand. It would be a bit long, since it was meant to be worn in heels, but he’d brought his _nice_ boots for this occasion, and the whole wispy look wasn’t really doing it for him.

The sides and back were open, with a dark slash of deepest blue crossing over the lower chevrons to start the pattern at either hip where the dress transitioned from skin tight to flowing skirts in a three part style- two slits up the front showed the entire leg while modestly hiding everything else. It looked like someone had poured the ocean onto a garment, and he dreaded to think of how much something of such delicate beauty must have cost.

Sighing, Turin dug into his bag, and pulled out the skin tight, shiny black leather pants he’d brought with him. It seems he hadn’t been entirely off track.

~*~

Dutch resisted the urge to tap her fingers impatiently, instead resting her head back and staring up at the lid of her laundry box.

“How much long, Johnny?” she muttered, although there was no one to hear her in the empty level. All the business was happening upstairs.

The sound of laughter burst over the comms, Johnny’s fake laugh. After a moment, he muttered, _“Little busy right now. Asses to kiss, what is it?”_

“How much _longer_? Turin said a distraction, but you clearly aren’t working.” She shifted her weight so her legs wouldn’t go numb. The box was tight even for her, but it wasn’t locked. She just needed something big enough to keep eyes off the cameras for long enough for her to let D’avin in. It would be a cake walk from there.

It was just a matter of a distraction.

 _“Who would have guessed, killjoy husbands of dead Sayeh’s were last season_?” Johnny’s tone was light, but Dutch frowned.

“Johnny,” She started, concerned, but was interrupted by Johnny’s soft _what the fuck?_

_“Dutch, you’re never gunna guess who your distraction is. Go now, hurry.”_

~*~

Turin stared down at Fancy’s hand like he was offering him a spider.

“It was your idea,” Fancy reminded him, tilting his head and lifting his eyebrows in that not-condescending-asshole way. Turin fidgeted, curling his hands at his side, and bouncing a foot. Fancy offered him the ring again. They stood in the cargo bay of his sleek little ship, as its autopilot system brought it in to dock. Just enough time to go over details one last time, and for Fancy to push a few pins in Turin’s hair so it didn’t look like he’d been pulling his fingers through it – which he had.

“Fuck it. I didn’t expect props,” He took the ring, sliding it on his finger. It fit, which was unsettling but not entirely unsurprising. Fancy wasn’t one of his best for his charm or good looks, after all. “Isn’t this sort of like pissing in their eyes?” He didn’t gesture at himself, but it was implied. Plus, Qreshi’s didn’t really _do_ rings. That was for low born folk. This would really hammer in the idea that Turin was Westie trash, if their general disgust at his being a killjoy didn’t put all the nails in that particular coffin.

Fancy offered Turin his arm, and he took it with a disgusted sigh, as the ship chimed final warning before the ramp lowered. In the din that washed up the ramp, Turin could just make out Fancy’s words.

“Just adding fuel to my social pyre. You wanted a _distraction_.” he could hear the smile in his voice, even if his eyes were focused on the crowd being revealed.

Fancy ducked his head and caught Turin’s eye, covering his hand with his own so that their gold wedding bands stood out starkly side by side, unmistakably where the eye would be drawn. He tipped his head to mutter the last part into Turin’s ear, lips brushing against the heavy gold and pearl chandelier clip-on earrings he’d put on Turin last minute.

“Might as well make it a good show.” Said Fancy softly, and then he was leading his new ‘husband’ down the ramp.

~*~

As distractions went, they worked better then he could have hoped. Heads turned and hands rose to shield whispers as they passed other Qreshis – and his brain truly stumbled over it, but he supposed he and Fancy were here as a couple, as well. The stares felt like rifle sights, sending little warning prickles up and down his back; Turin found himself sticking close to Fancy’s side, uncharacteristically nervous. It wasn’t an exaggeration to say that all eyes had been on them since they’d walked in, and as much as he would have loved to blame Fancy’s ridiculous blue velvet suit, Turin knew it was _him_ they were staring at.

Someone had taken the beautiful, if impractical gold feathered shawl from him when he’d stepped inside, and Fancy’s over coat. It was a pretentious opulence, to have a coat specifically to walk the twenty feet from the ship’s ramp, to the house’s door, but that was Qresh.

Inside, he followed Fancy’s example, hanging onto his arm until nails whitening from his tense grip of the dark blue fabric of Fancy’s suit. It was soft, not itchy as he might have expected; his palm left marks on it like pressing against an expensive cat, but Fancy allowed it.

He _shone_ in the bright light of the opulent Qreshi hall.

Turin had thought what Fancy had picked for _him_ was high class, but he really did look like the low class girlfriend next to that sleek suit; large over jacket, suit jacket, vest, shirt, thick belt and dress pants all matched, the same deep blue. The necklines of his shirts echoed Turin’s dress in deep chevrons, but he had a gold necklace as thick around as Turin’s thumb instead of a tie, and ornate earrings to match. For the first time in memory, Fancy’s hair was loose, a dark spill of midnight against the night sky of his clothes. The earrings were mostly hidden by his hair, but when he moved they caught the light, and Fancy looked like the night sky.

He looked good; good in a way that made Turin uncomfortable suddenly with the chosen cover story.

He _looked_ Qreshi. He fit seamlessly.

Thrown on right before they had left the ship was his sash of House Kendry. Turin had known, of course, but no one else on the mission knew, and as soon as Johnny Loud Mouth, and his brother D’avin Can’t Keep A Secret Jaqobis got back to the RAC, Fancy’s secret would be out. Turin appreciated his sacrifice, even if the the knuckle heads wouldn’t be able to comprehend it.

_Dutch would._

“Security check ahead. You’re unarmed?” asked Fancy softly, as he nodded to someone on his other side.

Turin fought the urge to make a face, shaken from his thoughts. He hoped none of what he had been thinking had shown.

“Not exactly.” He hadn’t been about to walk into this pit of vipers _unarmed_.

“Where is it?” He didn’t sound annoyed, surprisingly. Maybe amused.

“In my boot,” Turin hesitated, “It’s a knife. Ceramic.” The heavy gold earrings Fancy had loaned him shivered across the side of his neck and danced over the top of his shoulder as he lifted it in a shrug. His ears hurt from the weight of them. Thank fuck they were clasp back- how Fancy was wearing those heavy threaded earrings, he had no idea. _Maybe the Qreshi augmented their earlobes_. He snorted, amused at the thought.

Fancy patted his hand, and startled, Turin actually looked up at him; Fancy seemed amused. He tugged Turin closer, until their hips bumped, and he could slide an arm around his waist. His handle settled easily on the bare skin of the dress’s cut out, and _yup, this could be a problem._

“Time to sell that cover story,” muttered Fancy. Before Turin could get his shit together, he was pressed against a pillar on their right, Fancy’s hand on the small of his back drawing their bodies close as he leaned in, crowding him. Turin could feel the flush start, crawling up his neck and heating his face. If they hadn’t had all eyes on them before, they certainly did now. The dress opened along the slit, baring his entire leg as the hem pooled on the off-white tiled floor, looking like waves washing against Fancy’s dark velvet dress shoes.

“Darling, I thought I was clear about weapons. You aren’t here on R.A.C business.” Fancy stage whispered- so announced, loudly, and Turin bit his lip to keep from cussing him out. _Be a distraction. A loud, embarrassing, entertaining, gossip worthy distraction_.

“Why, _buttercup-”_ he saw Fancy’s lips twitch, and continued in an acid-sweet voice pitched to carry. Gotta feed the crowd after all. “I didn’t bring any weapons. You asked so _nicely_ , after all.” _Thank fuck I didn’t hide it in the dress_. He had a pretty good idea where this was going.

Fancy’s hand moved lower on his hip, guessing correctly which boot he’d hidden the knife in. It slid down the outside of Turin’s thigh, skating over the leather to his knee. Hidden under from view by the fall of Fancy’s hair, Turin clenched his hand warningly on Fancy’s inner-most collar but forced himself to relax back into Fancy’s hand, until his shoulders rested against the pillar. The Killjoy’s hand was warm through the leather, fingers hooked gently under his knee.

He could feel the eyes on them, which again, he reminded himself was a good thing. _Nothing like a simple plan for efficiency._

“I told you, I don’t have anything on me. Except this _lovely_ dress,” said Turin, still stage-loud. It was too acidic to be considered flirty, but most of the people present had met him in his professional capacity, and he wasn’t exactly known for his sweet disposition.

This close, he could see the twitch of Fancy’s lips as he fought to keep character; he ducked his head closer so no one else could see – or hear- the soft snort of laughter he muffled into the side of Turin’s neck.

Except the dickheads in their comms, of course.

Turin couldn’t see Jaqobis, but he heard him loud and clear.

“ _What the_ fuck. _Are they necking?”_ Johnny asked.

His annoying voice was like ice water down Turin’s back; exactly what he needed to remember what they were _here_ for. The uncomfortable heat gathering under his skin dissipated as quickly as it had gathered, and he had to fight not to tense up. They were supposed to be a couple- had they been one, Turin would be all over this like flies on shit. There was nothing more enjoyable then making Qreshis uncomfortable. _So act like you’re having fun, for fuck sake._

 _“What? What’s happening? Johnny?” And there they are._ Dutch and D’avin, nearly in stereo.

Turin cursed, and slid his leg up over Fancy’s hip, pulling the taller man in closer so he could hiss against his comm without anyone seeing his lips move. Fancy’s hair brushed against the side of his face, silky and distracting.

“Could you morons focus? This shit will only work for so long.” Turin whisper snarled, lips brushing the skin of Fancy’s neck. His skin smelled like some type of perfume, something he didn’t normally wear.

To his credit, Fancy didn’t hesitate; he tugged Turin tighter to him until they were pressed together lewdly, and tangled a hand in his curls- hair he had so carefully styled only minutes earlier. A jewelled pin dropped from between his fingers, pushed free by Fancy’s hand, and hit the floor with a soft chime.

When he gently tilted Turin’s head back, looking him in the eyes questioningly, Turin tipped his chin down, just slightly; he paid strangers money to fuck him, it wasn’t like kissing one of his killjoys was going to end his life. It was nice to be asked, although perhaps it was the nice clothes making Fancy forget he wasn’t made out of spun sugar like so many Qreshi royals.

It was disarming to be kissed like he was something fragile; a soft press of Fancy’s mouth against his as he cupped the back of Turin’s head, at odds with the strong press of his hard thigh between Turin’s, the heat sinking into him, and the weight of his body pressing Turin back against the column. Fancy stroked his hand down his spine, fingers tracing the bared scar on his back, and then covered it. It made him shiver, the carefulness of that gesture. Turin could write the kiss off, they were playing a part – but shielding part of him that Fancy knew to be so vulnerable, something Turin was so careful not to expose normally...

He didn’t have time to dwell on it.

A hand grabbed Fancy by the shoulder, thin fingers remarkably string; Delle Seyah Kendry physically pulled Fancy off Turin, and exasperation clear, gathered her skirts in one hand, and bent to snag the knife from Turin’s ankle holster. She straightened, and slapped it against her red faced guard, who had jogged to catch up to her.

Fancy, for his part, appeared, un-phased. He smiled pleasantly, placing a hand over his heart, and folding his other arm at the small of his back. A small bow to his irate family head.

“Dearest cousin Delle, it’s a pleasure as always.” He greeted her.

“Delle _Sayeh_ ,” Sayeh Kendry snapped, looking between the two of them. She seemed to be fighting to keep her thoughts to herself- then gave in, and snapped, “ _Really? Really,_ Fancy? You expect me to believe this farce?” she seemed exasperated.

Their comms crackled. Across the room, Johnny looked like someone had slipped him happy drugs. He met Turin’s eyes, “ _They’re related? Fancy’s a_ Kendry?”

“ _We are literally trying to focus down here, can you guys stop having so much fun?”_ D’avin cut in.

Turin shrugged. He couldn’t say anything with Sayeh Kendry right there. Plus, he didn’t really want to get involved. Johnny didn’t bother to cover his shit eating grin, leaning against the pillar across the wide hall from them. Turin did the same, smiling nastily at the Sayeh when she glanced at him.

She looked disgusted. “You’ve had your fun. Now, I’m sure if I look I’ll find more of your little killjoys creeping around, so why do we make a deal?” she spoke softly, her voice not carrying past the two of them – and Team Awesome Force, who were no doubt listening avidly.

Fancy stepped backwards, relaxing out of his bow to wind an arm around Turin’s waist; unable to resist nettling her, Turin leaned in, resting his cheek on Fancy’s shoulder, and tucking his thumb into Fancy’s belt.

Kendry looked thoroughly repulsed.

“Take,” she gestured vaguely at both of them, “ _this_ , out of my house and away from here, and I won’t look for your little mice.”

It wasn’t a bad deal. More then that, with no reason to kick Johnny out- technically, he _was_ a member of the Nine through marriage, although he had no power- it wasn’t like they didn’t have eyes. They had gone into this knowing that their sham marriage had a limited shelf life as a distraction, but didn’t need to be long.

Oddly, Turin found himself comfortable leaning against Fancy; his shoulder was the perfect height, and from here Turin’s cheek rested equally against the silky strands of his loose hair, and the soft velvet material.

“What do you say, sweetie?” he said, suddenly. Fancy looked down at him in surprise; across the hall, Johnny choked on his drink. _Serves him right._ “We could have more fun on our own.”

Fancy looked at him with an unreadable expression, then gathered his hand carefully, and tucked it into the crook of his elbow. Again, he covered it with his own, their fake wedding rings standing out next to each other.

“Let’s get our coats.”

~*~

The moment the ramp was up behind them, Turin was kicking off his shoes, hands busy with the clasps on his dress, as Fancy stepped up behind him and gently picked the jewelled pins from his hair.

“Don’t fuck this up.” He growled into his comm., before slapping it off in irritation. He wasn’t in the mood for Jaqobis chatter. Fancy’s hands were warm and gentle as he unclipped Turin’s heavy earrings- they sang sweetly as they move, before he laid them down on a table.

Hair loose and messy, feeling almost unanchored without all the heavy gold, Turin paused in his struggles with the dress and looked down at the band of gold on his finger. It felt strange, alien, but not wrong. Part of him didn’t want to remove it.

Fancy slowed to a stop, tracking Turin’s gaze with that eerie attentiveness of his. He smoothed his own hands over the jacket and vest he had laid over the back of a chair, and laid the undone wide belt over both. Its leather ties dragged on the floor with a hiss.

“You know, you don’t have to remove it if you don’t want to.”

Turin looked up at him questioningly.

“It’s a real wedding band. Qreshis can be married by proxy – I don’t know if it would be legally binding on Westerly, but on Qresh we’re married. For the next decade, or until you annul it.” He was stepping carefully closer to Turin, watching him for any sign that he should stop, should leave.

Turin remembered the warmth of his shoulder. The strength in his leg.

The sweet smell of his soft hair.

He looked down at his ring.

“What did you use as proxy?” he asked, letting Fancy step close, and lean into him as he rested his hands on Turin’s hips.

“Your gun.”

Turin smiled. He liked the way the gold looked when he rested his hand against Fancy’s chest.


	2. art for chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> art for chapter one, chapter two text to be up soon!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beautiful art by Fconvicted on twitter! I commissioned this piece because I enjoyed the outfits so much, thank you Lone for this great story. It's a lot of fun <3

Art by the wonderful Fconvicted on twitter! please note I commissioned this piece, it wasn't a gift- don't ask Fconvicted for free art. Unless I say otherwise, I've always commissioned art! Thank you for doing such a beautiful job


	3. calm before the storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> brief interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> having a hard September so splitting this chapter into two pieces so something gets DONE. also deeply afraid of something new and awful happening to this piece ;w; the universe has a big imagination.

* * *

* * *

Johnny listened to the conversation in stunned silence, and turned to Delle Sayeh Kendry, lacking anyone else to share the information with.

“They’re _married_? For realsies?” he asked.

She rolled her eyes.

“ _Qreshi_ married. It wouldn’t stand up on Leith, and Westerly is a dirtball with ridiculous laws and customs so it’s hard to say.” She sipped her drink, eyes narrowed as she thought about it.

The party went on around them, and she ignored her guests.

“You know, I think if Turin doesn’t contest it immediately, they’re married. He’d have to annul it on Westerly.” Kendry said suddenly, tone thoughtful as she stirred her drink slowly.

“Huh.” Johnny grabbed a drink from a passing waiter. “Kind of makes me want to get drunk and forget everything you just said.”

“Your cousin didn’t just marry a drunk slutty cop.”

Johnny fake gasped. “I resent that. Killjoys aren’t cops. Also Turin and Fancy drink the same amount, so your _drunk_ cousin just married a lush. And technically his _boss,_ so he married up.” Johnny gasped again, splaying a hand on his chest. “Does this mean we can say Fancy slept his way to the top?”

The Seyah cast him an unimpressed look over the rim of her drink.

Johnny sipped his, smiling cheerfully. "Has anyone every told you you have ridiculously massive eyes? So huge. That's a compliment." he added hastily.

“ _Johnny you can't be drunk, you've had like three drinks. And y_ _ou aren’t going to defend the slutty? Kinda harsh.”_ said D’avin.

 _“No, it’s pretty accurate.”_ Dutch threw in her two cents.

Johnny snorted. “Pree showed me his sexer bills once, I’m sure it doesn’t count as defamation of character.” 

~*~

Turin’s skin was buzzing from the excitement. It was the left over hum of adrenaline in his system, he told himself, and hastily moved his hands off of Fancy’s chest, clearing his throat awkwardly.

Turning away, Turin returned to trying to unzip the stunning blue dress, but adrenaline made his hands shake just enough that the fine clasp escaped his fingers every time he tried to undo it. _Maybe its not just from the mission_ , whispered the traitor voice at the back of his skull, seductively. He shoved it back with a scowl.

 _Not going to fuck one of my killjoys._ He had to draw the line somewhere.

Fingers brushed against his, and he pulled his hand away quickly, letting Fancy unzip him. The top loosened, then slipped off his shoulders, and he caught it before it could slump too far and the hem risk dragging on the rough floor.

“Let me get you something more comfortable.” Fancy murmured softly, fingertips just barely brushing against the hallow of his back; he felt what might have been warm breathe against his hair, although when he turned, the other Killjoy was on the other side of the room, exiting the small hanger. He rubbed his hands together.

Just his mind, making up sensations.

Fancy left Turin to his thoughts, and once he was alone he slid the dress up over his head, and carefully laid it on top of Fancy’s dress jacket. It was too hard to be alone with his thoughts, the silence ringing and jeering in his own voice, so he tapped on his comm..

“Give me an update.” He growled, mood suddenly sour.

“ _Does this mean we have to call Fancy Mom?”_ Johnny asked without hesitation.

“ _Why am I mom? I’m taller.”_ Turin had forgotten Fancy’s comm. was still on. He pinched the bridge of his nose, grateful no ne was around at heat rose in his face. They were immature children, but it was his fault for giving them a window.

“ _Oh is_ that _how it works._ ” Dutch. Turin’s teeth creaked as they ground together. “ _So a tall woman with a short man, that would make her father?”_

“Will you all shut the sass and give me an update?”

“ _Dutch and I are done, we’ll be ready to go when Johnny is._ ”

“ _I was thinking of staying and having a little family get together with Sayeh Kendry, maybe look at baby photos, pick out the colour scheme for the wedding- Oh, what? Already? So no party. Well that was rude.”_

Turin held his hands up, mouthing a curse at the ceiling.

“Leave. Now, Johnny. That’s a gods damned order.” He slapped off his comm., and turned in a slow frustrated circle, dragging his fingers through his hair. He stiffened when his eyes reached Fancy, waiting patiently in the doorway. In his hands he held a more comfortable pair of slip on shoes, and a folded black sweater. He hadn’t changed, although his heavy jewellery was gone, and his hair was once more half pulled back.

“Don’t worry, I won’t take the children in the divorce.” He joked.

Turin blew out a relieved breathe.

“Are you sure? I’ll give you a discount. A shitload for nothing.” Turin took the offered sweater, wriggling into it without waiting; the ship was nippy, and he had gooseflesh up and down his arms from the chill. It was a soft, worn fabric, clearly meant to have a shirt underneath. His haste had nothing to do with standing half dressed in front of his _husband_.

He ignored the way it smelled of Fancy, as he slipped it over his head, temporarily engulfed by it.

It was time to put the crazy impulses back in the box. They’d go back to the R.A.C. and he’d file for an annulment of the proxy wedding; it was inappropriate to consider anything else. Fancy was one of his Killjoys. Turin took a deep, calming breath, and smoothed the sweater down. _Calm down_ , it wasn’t a big deal.

_You just admitted you wouldn’t mind being married to him. No big deal._

“Are you hungry? Delle kicked us out before we got to eat.” Fancy asked from behind him.

Turin twitched. His gurgling stomach answered for him, and he made a face.

“Yes. I could eat- none of that weird vegetable only shit Qreshis seem to like so much.”

Fancy gave him a look, and Turin rocked back on his heels, curls of embarrassment warming his chest. “If you would be so kind,” he added, less aggressively.

Fancy smirked. “Meat and potatoes. Got it.” He put the shoes down on the table. “Its down the hall, first door to your left, if you need to find me. Your quarters are the second door if you go right.”

He didn’t linger.

Turin hesitated at the door, looking down the hall after Fancy, and then turned right.


	4. The Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turin continues his uncomfortable slip from professionalism to intimacy as Fancy's ship orbits Qresh, waiting for Team Awesome Force to finish their half of the mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the conclusion of _A Fake Name_ ! if you keep this story on watch, there's a potential of more art being added at a later date. Thanks Lonespark, it was a really fun idea and I had a blast writing it <3  
> As always my writing twitter is linked to explain my policy on requests. Please don't leave a request in the comments, thanks!

* * *

* * *

The bed was small but comfortable, and although the pants he had brought with him were far too tight to lay down in, the sweater Fancy had loaned him was loose and soft. It pooled warmly around Turin’s limbs when he dropped with a sigh to the bed, ignoring the pinch of the tight leather around his hips. The sweater slipped low on his shoulder as he eyed the room.

There was a suspicious lack of _things_ in the room. He rolled onto his back, squinting at the lockpad on his side of the door. It looked… _off_. He couldn’t quite place his finger on what it was.

Turin tapped his comm twice, activating the on-ship private channel.

“Fancy, is this your ship’s cell?” He asked, still laying on his back.

There was silence on the channel, although it crackled so he knew it was active.

“… _Yes. I modified it for this mission. Why? Are you locked in?”_ He sounded worried.

Turin shook his head, then made a face. “No,” he said quickly, “It looked strange.”

_“You might want to use the voice commands. It will recognize your voice, my ship’s A.I has access to the R.A.C database. It should override any stray code I may have missed.”_

Turin didn’t bother to pretend he wasn’t impressed. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He tapped the comm off quickly, feeling off balance. Everything about this mission seemed to be catching him wrong footed, just off balance enough that he couldn’t quite figure out what the hell he was doing.

_You’re tired. Tired minds make mistakes._

All he needed was rest.

It was funny how it rang false even in the quiet of his own skull.

“Lights, twenty percent.” The room dimmed until it was comfortably dark, light levels near that of simulated moonlight. Turin was acutely aware of the pinch of his pants, catching his skin so tight in places that he was afraid he would have bruises; and the contrast with the soft, loose slide of the borrowed sweater, skimming across his skin like the softest whisper of fingers. Now that he was still and it was dark, the smell of Fancy seemed to fill the room, and that _thought filled his head_ , now he couldn’t do anything else but imagine fingers tracing across his skin.

The soft material caught on his pebbled nipples, making his breath catch at the spike of heat. Pleasure danced across his nerves, and it was impossible for his mind _not_ to go to the image of Fancy rolling his nipples through the shirt. He could still feel the heat of him, pressed hard against him; Turin wasn’t a very imaginative man, but their mission meant he didn’t have to try very hard. He shifted his legs restlessly, hissing at the tightness, and rubbed the heel of his palm against his half hard cock. It was trapped by the leather, almost as good as a hand against him; he was excited quickly, covering his own mouth to keep the noise down.

Not that he thought Fancy would look in on him, but _fuck_ , it hadn’t even occurred to him that a _cell_ would be equip with cameras. Turin’s eyes fluttered closed in the dark as his hips jumped at the thought, and he groaned low.

_Shouldn’t be doing this,_ he thought, guilt biting at him, but instead of stopping he dug his heels into the pristine bedding, and rolled his hips up into his cupped palm. Heat prickled up his spine, and he was going to need to slow down, to back off- he didn’t need to explain to Fancy that he was walking strange because his pants were filled with drying jizz. But it felt _good_ , his skin fizzling with an electric buzz of left over adrenaline and arousal, and he recklessly wanted to keep going, damn the consequences.

He shied away from picturing Fancy’s face, could barely bring himself to imagine his hands- it was so tasteless, so _stupid_ -

Actually, it wasn’t even that part that would kill him. Turin was normally an amazing liar, but once he started blushing that was it. And the idea of trying to fumble his way through a lie about who he was thinking about- he was already red, but embarrassment put a chaser of shame on the pleasure, and with a curse he sat up. The lights automatically went up; Turin ducked his face, scraping his hair back from his flushed face. Heat and colour inched up his neck.

The lights had been too low to pick up on his activities before, but in the full lights he was visibly flushed, red faced, and he hunched his shoulders so the sweater fell into his lap, covering his erection. Turin didn’t know f the room actually _had_ cameras, but it was better safe.

His comm crackled on, confirming his suspicions.

_“Are you okay?”_ asked Fancy’s smooth voice. He seemed more distracted then concerned. _“The computer registered your raised heart rate but I didn’t want to disturb you.”_

Ah. That was better then cameras. He snorted, relieved.

“I thought you had cameras for a moment there, you freaked me out.” He relaxed, exhaling slowly. A heart rate monitor made sense.

_“No, I have heat sensors. Better than cameras, they work in the dark._ ”

Ice crawled up his spine.

Fancy continued, “ _of course, I turned them off.”_

“Ah. Of course.” Turin said weakly.

_“Are you okay? Your heartrate is all over the place.”_

Turin let himself fall back on the bed, hands over his eyes, scrubbing slowly. “It’s fine. I’m just too old for this field work shit.”

He could have sworn Fancy laughed. The line crackled.

_“Dinner is nearly ready, if you’re hungry.”_

Turin took a deep, calming breath.

“Yeah, I’ll be there.”

He tapped off the comm, and stared at the wall, and sat up again. He stared down at the soft slippers Fancy had loaned him.

“Heat sensing cameras.” He sighed. “ _Hells_.” It was Fancy, why was he surprised? Tech was his thing after all. Bracing his hands on his knees, Turin shoved himself up, and rocked to a stop when the door didn’t open.

“Goddamn glitchy tech. Ship, open the door.” It hissed open as easily at if it had never been locked, and he made his way down the hall.

~*~

Fancy looked up when Turin entered. His dark hair was loose again, and he had changed into something more casual, loose pants and a warm sweater similar to the one he’d loaned Turin. He smiled warmly.

“Ah, there you are. I was beginning to wonder if you had changed your mind.”

Turin took in the room. Although the ship was small, this was clearly a place Fancy had put a lot of thought into, design-wise. There was a full kitchen, despite the space it took up – it was cleverly put together, so most of it sat against the back wall, leaving the main space for leisure. A two-person table, with a simple pair of chairs didn’t take up too much room. It left a surprising amount of the room free, and Fancy had filled it carefully’ he had a glass fronted book case acting as a divider between the kitchen and the ‘living room’, a low couch, and a plush rug over the sparse flooring.

What startled Turin was the _colours_. Despite Fancy’s extravagant jackets, he had always assumed him to be a greys-blues-blacks type décor. But the room was warm, alive. The couch was green, a deep, earthy colour like evergreen needles, and the rug was a lake of blue shot through with red. The table was wood, which surprised him. Turin hovered in the doorway, taking in the warm room, and Fancy’s relaxed appearance.

When the other killjoy looked at him, he spied the circle of gold still on his left hand. Fancy saw his look, and shrugged, although his expression quickly became shuttered. There was a bandage on Fancy’s hand, although Turin didn’t remember him being injured earlier. He was string, rudely; Fancy put the injured hand away, likely thinking Turin was staring at the wedding ring.

The gold ring on Turin’s own finger felt very heavy. He covered it with his other hand, shielding it like it could hide the strange vulnerability it left him with.

He realized belatedly that was the hand he had been using to jack off with, although there was no way for _Fancy_ to know that.

_Oh yeah, this is gunna be an uncomfortable dinner._

Uneasily, he took the seat across from Fancy. The table was set simply, and his plate was already dished out. Turin picked up his fork, surprised at the growl of his own stomach at the smell of the food.

“You made all this?” he asked, after several minutes passed in companionable silence. The food was good, as unexpectedly earthy as the room around them.

It was surprisingly unQreshi.

Fancy smirked.

“What, not Qreshi enough?”

Turin shrugged. He scraped the last of his potatoes onto his fork, and set his silverware down carefully, wiping his mouth. “I wasn’t going to say that,” He had been thinking it, of course. “Where did you learn? Leith?”

Fancy nodded. He moved his plate to the side, settling back in his seat.

There was a weight to his gaze that made Turin shift in his seat.

The penny dropped.

Turing wasn’t a stupid man, but he could be slow when it came to certain… interests.

“You turned the cameras back on,” he guessed.

Fancy tilted his chin down slightly. His expression was still guarded.

“I thought something was wrong.”

“You _watched_.” Turin was guessing – but it made sense. The uncharacteristic injury. _Fancy? Getting cut during kitchen prep?_ Not likely. He could count on one hand how many times he’d seen him bleed.

The strange tone when he’d first spoken to him.

Fancy didn’t defend himself, just kept watching Turin with those dark, careful eyes. Waiting to see how he reacted. Turin sat back, tapping his fingers on the table top.

“What was your plan?” Turin asked, trying to push his own thoughts away. He wasn’t sure what he wanted right now, but he knew he needed to hear what Fancy wanted.

“There was no plan. I was going to pretend it didn’t happen. I put you in this situation without asking, and you should be free to walk away.”

_Fuck, he looks so earnest. Gods damned noble Qreshi bullshit._

Turin snorted softly _. I’m so screwed._

‘That’s a bunch of bullshit, I bet you planned on doing some stupid shit.” He pushed back his chair and stood, and grabbed Fancy by the collar of his likely expensive sweater, yanking him up out of his seat and half across the table.

This kiss wasn’t a show put on for others. There was too much teeth- first Turin’s, digging into Fancy’s bottom lip, and then an equally sharp edge to it as Fancy took control and pushed Turin back into his chair, pinning him against it as he kissed down into his mouth until the smaller man was gasping and flushed from the attention. Fancy loomed over him, hand on his jaw and in his hair, and then his hand was between Turin’s legs, kneading his trapped cock as he overwhelmed him with the attention. The more Fancy touched him, the redder Turin’s skin, the faster his heart beat; Fancy pulled the sweater down off one shoulder, and pushed his hand up it, rolling his nipple with his thumb. Bit his throat gently when Turin tossed his head back with a startled curse.

He only pulled back to grab a knife blindly off the table, pushing Turin’s legs apart with his free hand once more; wider, until he was slumped lewdly in his chair, shiny pants stretched tight, sweater pushed up until on nipple was exposed, pink and hard from being played with. Turin was grateful for the respite; Fancy seemed to have a dozen hands once he got started. His skin was on fire, and his pants were sticking to him with sweat.

“What—” Turin started, voice horse.

Fancy hushed him, eyes focused between Turin’s legs.

“Stay still.”

Fancy pressed the dull side of the knife against his trapped dick, and carefully slid the blade down the seam. The sound of the stitches popping seemed louder than Turin’s pounding heart; he gripped the arms of his chair in a death grip, gasping for breath, impossibly turned on by the sudden turn of events. The other killjoy kept at the leather seam until the pants were ruined; they loosened on Turin’s hips, the bruising pinch finally letting up, but remained tight on his tights, stuck to his bare skin by sweat.

Fancy was careful, slicing the leather in such a way that he cut the top most layers, and the bottom layer tore from the strain. His knife never touched Turin’s skin, but as he tugged his hips forward to cut the ass to of Turin’s pants, the man was almost limp with the crash of arousal.

Fancy set the knife aside, and traced the newly exposed skin with two fingertips, following the slit from the front to the back. He traced over the damp, leaking head of Turin’s cock, finally freed from its confines.

“I’d like to fuck you.” Fancy said softly, fingers moving on, delving between Turin’s legs. They teased across his sack, stroking softly, and hinted at going back farther, before Fancy stood up. He looked at Turin.

Turin blinked at him.

_Oh-! For fuck sake._

“Well it’s not like I thought you were a _tailor_ ,” he snarled, annoyed. “I didn’t let you cut me a dick window for _fashion_.” He was mildly impressed with himself for collecting his brain off the floor so quickly.

The slippers Fancy had given him had fallen off and his feet were bare to the cold air. Without the heat of the moment, the chair made his back ache like a motherfucker. He unhooked his legs from the arms, and stood unsteadily it felt weird- breezy- but he stalked to the couch, and threw himself down on it, propping on foot up on the coffee table so the slit in the crotch of his pants gaped lewdly. Turin wrapped a hand around his stiff cock and stroked slowly, settling back in the cushions.

“Either fuck me, or I’ll fuck myself.”

Fancy picked something up off the table.

There was no teasing about; when Fancy reached him, he pushed his legs wider with hands under his knees, making room for himself between them, and batting Turin’s hand away from his own dick. He took the sting of the motion away by kissing Turin deep, until he sighed and relaxed underneath him, hands digging into Fancy’s shoulders and twining through his loose black hair.

The sensation of greased fingers breeching his hole was welcome, but sudden, and Turin groaned into Fancy’s mouth, biting his lip in retaliation for two fingers. It didn’t hurt, uncomfortably quickly but _full_ , and when he crooked his fingers and rubbed at Turin’s inner walls he kept at it until he was panting and cursing.

Fancy alternated between teasing his nipples with one hand, and teasing his prostate, easing in more fingers until they passed the line of preparation into purely for enjoyment. He would curl his fingers, and Turin would arch his back, clutch Fancy’s shoulders.

“Fuck- _please, please, Fancy,_ enough,” Turin gasped, loving every second of it. He wanted him, enough teasing, but his lungs felt small, and he had to pant to get enough air- just those words robbed him of everything he had. Turin’s shoulders pushed back into the couch, something smoother under their hips- which of course Fancy threw something over the couch, because he planned this.

Turin reached out, half a mind to claw his eyes out, but Fancy caught his hand, and turned it, kissing it softly; a moment of weakness, and Turin softened at the gesture, and then he was being pushed into, filled with hard, hot cock. He threw his head back, didn’t need to hide the noises; deep groans of surprised pleasure, the soft panted mantra of Fancy’s name over and over.

Fancy’s thick, silky hair fell across Turin’s throat the sweet perfume rising from it, and he clenched his hands on his shoulders, hips following the hard rolling thrusts. His aching cock was neglected between them, and he was sweating in all the heavy clothing, pressed between Fancy’s warm weight and the sofa.

“Fuck, hard, h-arder—” Turin ordered, hands twisted in his hair to make sure he got what he wanted. Fancy seemed to like when he pulled his hair; his hips would stutter, thrusts erratic, desperate, and then he would slow again, back to almost enough. Turin felt like his heart was going to pound its way out of his throat, so close to finishing but miles away – it yawned close every time Fancy lost his rhythm, and then danced away again.

He cursed and bit him on the shoulder, sinking his teeth in deep enough to leave a tender mark, although not break the skin.

The other killjoy moaned, and his hips jerked hard, pattern lost for deep, erratic thrust; Fancy shifted his weight, resting his forehead on Turin’s collarbone, putting some real weight behind his thrusts.

He thought Turin had been loud before.

The smaller redheaded killjoy clenched down on him, body impossibly tight as he came, spraying cum over their skin as he locked his arms around Fancy, keeping him close. Fancy tipped over the edge, control ripped away by the tight heat of Turin’s body; he pressed his mouth into his neck, kissing his skin open mouthed as he thrust into him frantically, until he finally spilled deep inside him.

Afterglow was a warm lethargy that made him want to stay buried inside him, and Fancy gathered Turin close, shifting them so they laid down on the couch more comfortable. Their legs were tangled together, clothing rumpled and out of place. He thought he might be bleeding from where Turin had bit him.

“You better have a bigger bed then that piece of shit in my room,” Turin muttered, from somewhere under the mess of red hair under his chin.

Fancy snorted.

“It’s big enough. Let’s go cut you the rest of the way out of those pants.”

~*~

_“-it’s big enough—"_ Dutch slapped the mute on Lucy’s console, and twisted to look at Johnny.

D’avin was standing at the foot of the stairs to the bridge, behind Johnny, listening with his eyebrows raised.

“Do you think they _meant_ to turn on their comms?”

“No. No way. Definitely not.” Johnny paused, “Maybe. It’s possible. The better question is do you want to explain why it took you until then to figure out they were banging?”

Dutch covered her ears. “No! Gross! This didn’t happen and there was no sex, we’re leaving. Lucy, set a course for the R.A.C.”

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT: Chapter 2 will be art for chapter 1, chapter 3 is second chapter of text!


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